Dovahkiin Awakes
by Andrewkin
Summary: The Dragons have returned and a civil war is breaking out in Skyrim. Who can stop it? This story is the first of three parts. It is based upon my in-game character. In order to write a functional story, I have to change events that happen in the game.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The old hunter peered over the rock, straining his eyes in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the monster in the near white-out conditions of the blizzard. Despite its large size, it had proved extraordinarily difficult to track the beast from where it had crashed on the lower slopes of the mountain. The snowfall was still fresh, and it shifted constantly with the wind as sand does in a great sandstorm. The great beast had made a trail in the snow since it had to drag its wounded body along the ground, but since the snow never stayed in one place, it increased the effort by which the hunter had to track it. Instead, he had to track it by the blood trails from the many wounds that the hunter and his party had inflicted upon it.

"If we leave it," one of the party whispered, "perhaps it will bleed out."

"Halfaen," the hunter said in a low, gruff whisper, "the beast slew my brother. perhaps the Bosmer know nothing of it, but we Nords are honor bound; it is my duty to kill the beast and bring its head back with me."

Halfaen swore under his breath, "Curse your honor," he said to himself. A gust of wind overcame the party. In it, the old hunter could hear the faint whispers of the creature crying out in pain, still a great distance up the mountain. When the party had come across it early that morning, they had managed to greatly wound the creature with a number of blows, but it had managed to get away from them, taking to the air with long outstretched wings. They followed it for many hours afterward, tracking it down with great care. Soon they had found that the great beast had crashed upon the slopes of the mountain they were now on. Only one of their party had died when they first came upon the monster, and that was the hunter's brother.

The old hunter glanced down at the axe resting on his waist. Dried, partially frozen, blood was upon the blade. It had belonged to his brother, and it was the weapon that struck the first blow against the beast.

The old hunter swore that the weapon would finish it.

"Let's keep moving," the old hunter said. And on the party went.

Riall dug his heels into the horse, spurring it to go even faster. The guards were nearly upon him. As he continued to plow through the dark forest, the wind tore at his hair and howled as it rushed over his ears. An arrow flew past his shoulder and planted itself into a nearby tree.

_Trying__to__shoot__me__now,__eh?_ Riall thought to himself. He hadn't anticipated that the crossing from Cyrodiil would be this difficult. In past years he had noted that people easily slipped past the border, but with the amount of men that now guarded the border, he was surprised that anyone could make the trip.

He jerked the reins to the side, causing the horse to pull itself sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding a tree. Another arrow crossed in front of Riall's vision, just inches away from his face. He jerked his horse back to the left, continuing further north into Skyrim.

"If this goes on for much longer," Riall said under his breath, "I'll end up looking like a skewered pig." In his mind, Riall thought of ways that he could lose his pursuers; perhaps he could try magic? Riall turned towards the guards and stretched out his hand. In an instant he could feel warm energy coursing through his blood. The sensation started in his heart and spread through the arteries in his outstretched arm to hand. Then the energy leaped from his hand as a gush of fire.

Riall knew that he was much too far from the guards to actually catch them in the flames, but he was only trying to frighten them, or even better, their horses. If he succeeded, he could lose the guards in the snowy forest and be off on his way.

The world behind became bathed in flames as he continued his spell. He was no magician, however, and soon he felt the warm energy from his heart grow thin and the spell began to falter. Still looking behind him, he saw no signs of the guards following him, but he could hear them yelling in the ever growing distance. A small smile began to play upon his lips as he continued to move away from the guards, but it soon vanished as the world around him heaved and rocked. His horse, unable to see much in the falling snow, had just stepped off a high ledge and was now falling towards the ground.

Riall heard a series sickening crack as the horse struck the ground legs first. The force of the impact threw Riall from his saddle and he was thrown upon a paved road, only a few feet from his horse. The horse let out a shrill cry as it attempted to move. Riall knew that it was pointless for the horse to try to get up; three of its legs flopped awkwardly as the horse flailed about and Riall knew that each was broken.

Riall's head pounded with a deep ache and his vision began to flicker. He tried to crawl along the ground to the horse to retrieve his weapon, a short iron sword, but he was pinned in place by an unseen force. He turned himself over to see what was holding him place, but all he saw was the sole of a boot racing towards his face as the world went black.

The beast roared again; this time it was much closer. The old hunter stealthily crept along a stone ridge trying to get a look at the creature. The snow was still falling, which effectively blinded him to anything that might have been 20 feet away, but as he rounded the ridge, he caught sight of the creature's tail: at the end was a massive diamond shaped plate that attached to the rest of tail, which he couldn't see.

"And now it belong to us," the old hunter said in a whisper that only he could hear. He turned back to the rest of the party, a snarl growing on his face. He pulled the axe from his waist and raised it into the air.

"For honor!" he shouted as loud as he could, the rest of the party responded in kind. Each screaming fierce war cries, they charged the great beast. At the front was the hunter; he rushed past the tail and came across the beast's massive hind legs.

Its body was huge, and it looked as if the tail was the length from the head of the best to its chest. Under the myriad of scales, the hunter could see that the creature's skin was a light brown color, and the scales themselves were a rusty copper color.

The beast had begun to arch its long head back towards the attackers, and for the first time the hunter could see its face. Its head, like the rest of its body, was colossal, two horns protruded from the creature's brow. The beast's pupils were the same copper color as the rest of its body, and the space around them was black. The head narrowed as it continued down and many sharp teeth protruded from the creature's mouth.

_Dragon_, the old hunter thought to him.

The dragon opened its mouth and let out a piercing screech, and had the hunter not been filled with a blood lust, he would have surely stopped and covered his ears while cowering on the ground. But it was far too late for cowardice; he continued to the dragon's neck, ducking under a wing in the process and swung the axe.

The dragon let out a wounded roar as the axe planted itself into its neck. Wrenching it from its spot, the hunter felt the satisfying spray of blood squirt from the fresh wound. He hacked again at a new spot, but this time he struck the dragon's scales and the axe bounced off harmlessly.

The dragon pulled its wing forward and managed to catch the hunter by the back and flung him away. The hunter landed in a bank of snow dazed but still unhurt. He looked up just in time to see one of his party get kicked by one of the dragon's massive hind legs. The man was vaulted into the air and thrown against a large rock. As he slowly slid to the ground, he stirred no more.

Taking a renewed grip on the axe, he rose to charge the copper dragon. The dragon's attention was fixed upon another member of the party. There was deep set hate and anger in its eyes and it opened its mouth to let out another roar.

"_Yol,__"_ the dragon screamed. From the mouth of the dragon came a great stream of fire and soon it engulfed the other man. The old hunter felt a rising surge of fear as he looked upon the dragon. He swallowed it down and charged the dragon. He could see an open spot on the dragon's neck and knew that if he could hit it just right, he would kill the dragon. He was just feet away from the dragon when he heard another chilling shout from the dragon.

But it was not the same dragon.

"_Fus__ro__dah!__"_ shouted the other dragon. The air around the hunter seemed at once to turn against him and he felt himself getting picked up off the ground and thrown far away from the dragon. He felt like a small stone that was thrown by a large giant. The axe was wrenched from his hand and he lost it in the blinding depths of the blizzard. Soon he settled in a deep snow drift, but his body felt broken and he could not move.

A huge dragon, much larger than the last, flew over to the hunter and hovered above him, the wood elf Halfaen gripped in the talons of his legs. This dragon was a dark gray color with spikes all over his body. His scales skewered out from his body, creating the illusion of having spikes when really it was just his armor. His eyes glowed a deep red color. He dropped the Bosmer onto the ground, close to where the hunter lay. Halfaen was left looking up at the dragon, who had landed and was now intently studying the elf.

"_Fahiil,__" _he heard the dragon say, "_Drun__daar__Alduin__wah__hin__sahsuun.__"_

Halfaen had a look of great fear as he heard the dragon speak in its deep guttural voice. But soon his expression turned to horror and pain as he grasped his head.

"Make it stop!" he yelled. The old hunter watched helplessly as Halfaen clawed at his own head, drawing blood in a number of places. Soon after, though, his expression turned blank and he seemed frozen in place.

The hunter knew that Halfaen was dead.

"_Helgen,_" the great dragon said in a whisper. It turned towards the hunter and with an evil snarl yelled, "_Krii__lun__aus!__"_

Pain enveloped every joint of the broken hunter's body. He could not think or move, he could only remain there, feeling as if every bit of his body was attacking each other in a great war. Soon the pain began to feel numb, as did his thoughts. The hunter felt very tired and closed his eyes. His spirit departed from the world and knocked upon the gates of Sovngarde.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Helgen

Another bump shook the cart, causing Riall to wake from his slumber. As his senses came to him, he could taste the copper residue left by the dried blood in his mouth. His head ached dully, each sensation of pain coming rhythmically like a drum of some old Nord chant. The world around him seemed like a slow, nebulous blur. Riall constantly drifted from thought to thought, unable to stay focused on any one thing. The cart struck another bump, this time Riall came to. He sat in the back of a cart, along with three other people. His hands were bound in front of him; the others, too, were tied in the same manner. The man on his right, a large man of Nord descent, was gagged in addition to being bound. He stared at Riall with deep-set eyes filled with equal parts anger and wisdom.

"Hey, you," the man across from Riall said in a think Nord accent, "finally awake?" Riall nodded sluggishly in the affirmative, unable to speak for his mind still felt slow. "What were you doing out there?" he asked.

Riall glanced at the cart's driver, a man dressed in Imperial armor, and said in a coarse, low voice, "I was trying to cross the border."

The man shook his head somberly, "You also ran right into an Imperial ambush, just like us," he said nodding towards the gagged man, "and this thief here."

Riall looked at the man the Nord was talking about. He appeared fidgety and scared. He glanced at Riall and then quickly fixed his eyes at the floor of the cart.

When he didn't say anything, the Nord chimed in, "He was trying to steal a horse when we came along," he paused, "then the Imperials came upon us."

The thief looked up at the Nord, anger burning in his eyes. Grumbling a curse under his breath, he said, "I could have been half way to Hammerfell had you Stormcloaks not come along."

"Quiet back there!" the Imperial driver roared.

The thief glanced at him before continuing in a low voice, "You and I," he said to Riall, "we shouldn't be here, it's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants," he concluded.

"Stormcloaks?" Riall asked. The thief opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted.

"Quiet!" the driver yelled again, this time turning his head back, "another word and I'll personally have all your heads before we even arrive!"

_Arrive__where?_ Riall thought to himself having to stifle the urge to ask. Riall noticed that there was another cart up ahead. In the back there was another group of men, each, it seemed, bound in the same manner as the men in Riall's cart. Riall contemplated jumping the cart and fleeing into the surrounding woods, but knew that the guards on horseback would quickly catch him.

Riall deemed the situation hopeless and slumped in his seat. The cold Skyrim air nipped bitterly at his exposed skin, bleak colors brought about by a thick fog cloaked the world around him.

"By the eight…," the thief whispered, his voice trailing off. His eyes were transfixed on something in the distance. Riall picked his head up and strained his eyes to see through the fog. A looming gate was slowly piercing its way through the fog; it was neither large nor wide, but just big enough to allow the convoy of carts to go through. Despite its normal appearance, its sudden manifestation hung in the air ominously to Riall. A single soldier, it appeared, was patrolling the wall above. As he spotted the carts, he stopped and leaned on the thin wall railing, watching the convoy disappear under the gate and reappear on the other side.

As Riall's cart cleared the gate, two Imperial soldiers closed the gates behind them.

As his eyes became more adjusted to the world around him, Riall noticed that this wasn't a fortress as he originally thought. There were a few scattered buildings here and there, and amongst Imperial troops moving about were a few peasants. Riall could feel someone nudging his foot. His eyes turned back to the thief.

"Helgen," he whispered. The convoy veered to the right and passed under another gateway. Now they were in a large courtyard surrounded by high stone walls. Inside the courtyard was a small Imperial legion; they stood before a great stone building, the fortress's keep, Riall guessed, watching the convoy inch ever closer.

The carts stopped side by side in the middle of the courtyard and the soldiers issued forth.

"Everyone out!" one of the soldiers barked. An officer, Riall could tell, came forward and grabbed the gagged man and pulled him away from the rest of the prisoners.

"You come with us," the officer said, "General Tullius will want to have a word with you." The officer was joined by several other soldiers who escorted the man away, further into the settlement. The rest of the prisoners were forced into the keep. Eventually Riall and the others in his cart were brought to a large room. Here they were unbound and left alone by the guards.

Riall rubbed his wrists as they were sore from where the bonds were tightly wrapped.

"So," the Nord said, "I never did catch your name." He was looking at Riall.

"I never caught yours," Riall said. The Nord smiled in response.

"I suppose not, the name's Ralof," he said.

"Riall, Riall Strongstone."

"What about you, thief, what's your name?" Ralof asked. The thief looked sullenly at Ralof.

"Stormcloak, you will never have the honor of knowing my name," he said. Ralof simply smiled forgivingly.

"I'm sorry that your trip to Skyrim hasn't been very hospitable," Ralof said to Riall, "on a normal day we'd all be very welcoming and offer you some of our finest mead!" For a moment, Ralof's face was bright and proud as he spoke, but soon it returned to its former dark state. "But sadly," he continued, "Skyrim today is anything but normal."

"Can you at least tell me what's going on?" Riall asked.

Ralof nodded his head, "What would you like to know?" he said settling up against the wall.

"Well, for starters, who was your companion, why are we all here?"

Ralof took a deep breath, "I'm sure you've head the word Stormcloak tossed around, yes? Well, that's why we're here. We Stormcloaks are 'rebels' fighting for the rights of the people of Skyrim. The other man, the one they gagged, _that_is Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, our leader and true king of Skyrim."

"Don't listen to his lies," the thief spat out, "Ulfric killed the high king in Solitude," a shadow passed over his face, "some say that he tore him apart with his very voice!"

"High King Torygg," Ralof said with anger rising in his voice, "would have us bow down to the wishes of both the Empire and those blasted elves in the Summerset Isles. Ulfric is saving us from that fate!"

"Ulfric is a power-hungry madman! The Empire is, and always has, guarded and done what is best for us!"

"Look at where you are thief! The Empire has put you in here; the Empire has imprisoned you! The Empire is about to kill you!"

The thief seemed surprised by this. "Kill… kill me?" he said with incredulity in his voice, "I haven't done anything!"

"They found you with us," Ralof said soberly, "that's enough for them." The thief looked like he about to speak when the door opened and another man was thrown in.

"Jarl Ulfric!" cried Ralof. He helped Ulfric up onto his feet. There were bruises on his face and a large black eye decorated the right side of his face.

"Tullius thinks a few punches are enough to break me," Ulfric said.

"They interrogated you?" Ralof asked.

Ulfric let out a deep hearty laugh, "No, they just wanted to rub their success in my face," he set himself in a small wooden chair, "who are these two, Ralof?"

"This one, the thief they caught with us, refused to give his name, this one over here, the Imperial that was crossing the border, his name is Riall.

Ulfric chuckled and sat forward, "Irony has a way of getting us all, eh?" he said to Riall. "If you weren't an Imperial and here in prison, I'd accept you into my army right now, but even if I did, current circumstances would render that useless."

"You wouldn't accept me because I'm an Imperial?" Riall asked.

Ulfric nodded, "Aye, my fight is for the Nords; an Imperial in our ranks? No, that can't happen. Besides, I have a feeling you wouldn't even join us given the opportunity," he said, taking a closer look at Riall.

"Probably not," Riall said shaking his head, "I have no problems with the Empire."

A bitter smile played on Ulfric's lips, "I thought not." Ulfric went on talking to Ralof for some time. Riall sat alone in his part of the room. He thought of his family, of his mother in the Imperial City. He had made it to Skyrim, but his quest, his journey, it seemed, would end here. He uttered a small prayer to Akatosh:

"_Akatosh,__hear__my__plea;__I__am__your__servant,__help__me!__Save__me__from__this__fate!__"_

Riall could hear the lock turning in the door, and as it began to open, Riall felt a hand clasp his shoulder. It was the thief.

"Lokir," he whispered, "Lokir of Rorikstead."

The Empire solider entering the room was soon pushed aside as Lokir barreled through the doorway. The soldier yelled as he stumbled to the floor. Riall could hear other shouts in the hallway beyond the door. A few guards flashed in front of the door for a brief moment.

Finally the guard got off the ground and left the room, closing the door behind him. Riall heard distant yells from the guards outside the door. Soon though, all was quiet.

The door opened again. An Imperial officer with a few other behind him appeared.

"It's time, he said."


End file.
